


Closing Time

by primeideal



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate History - Different Gender Norms, Alternate Universe - Baseball, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When rookie reliever Finn Bloggs joins the Hoth Gemini in spring training, he's looking for a new start. In making Hoth his home, he's met with everything from fair-weather fans to foul-weather conditions--and a center fielder on a meteoric rise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



> For Meatball42, who mentioned liking sports AUs where you can learn about the sport, self-deprecation, and misunderstandings. Thank you very much for the fun prompts ;) I had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> This is, in some places very tightly and in some places much more loosely, based on a specific not-quite-modern baseball season; in my defense, I think a lot of it would have been stranger than fiction if I had tried to make it up off the top of my head.
> 
> My enormous thanks are due to spookykingdomstarlight for betaing and cheerleading through this process. Needless to say, any remaining errors are mine.

_February_

Every winter, a new generation of prospects made their way to the Grapefruit League, hoping they'd make the final rosters and travel north to the frigid city of Hoth with the rest of the Gemini in the spring. It was a rite of passage to pick up one's new uniform, bearing the team's name on the front and whatever digits one was assigned on the reverse. No one was surprised, for instance, to see Poe Dameron return in his customary #18. While he could no longer fly around the basepaths like he had in previous years, he was still an offensive threat, and a captain beloved by the fans (to say nothing of his acclaim in the dugout).

Untested rookies, however, often wore higher two-digit numbers, a sign of their uncertain place on the team. Rey Atkins, a center fielder who had been drafted out of high school the previous year, was assigned #71 and accepted it without question.

Relief pitcher Finn Bloggs, too, was a “rookie” as far as the statistics cared. He'd only played two months with the Takodana Knights the previous season, and one of those had been September, when there was extra room on the roster anyway. But the Knights had released him during the off-season, and with the Gemini, he was starting over.

“Eighty-seven?” asked the equipment manager.

“Good enough,” he said.

For a moment he held it in his hands, ignoring the digits and just telling himself that yes, he could make it fit. Stepping out of the way, avoiding the bemused equipment manager's expression as he continued digging through piles of uniforms, Finn carefully folded his new jersey.

That was when Rey approached him. “You're Bloggs, yeah? From Takodana?”

“I _was_ from Takodana,” he corrected her. People knew him already? “What's it to you?”

“Just saying hi,” she blinked. “And it seems like a cool city, I've never been. How many homers do you think Organa-Solo will hit this year? When everything goes his way, he's pretty impressive.”

“Who cares?” Finn blurted, then looked around to make sure their manager wasn't watching. Of _course_ he'd be stuck with Ben Organa-Solo's mother for a skipper, and he hadn't gotten a chance to introduce himself on his own terms yet.

“Relax,” said Poe Dameron, striding over on his way to the clubhouse. “Let Takodana wonder about Takodana's best-case, we're all here to focus on Hoth. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Finn said, grateful for any excuse to escape the conversation. Maybe Rey would take the hint and start following Poe around so they could go work on whatever it was hitters did. She seemed awestruck enough by players that weren't even in her league, literally. When she didn't, Finn hustled off after Poe instead, stretching as he went. If he couldn't demonstrate his skill and make the team, he would have bigger problems than the legends in Leia Organa's family tree.

* * *

_March_

“Please tell me the fans in Hoth will actually care about...you know. Our team,” Finn asked one day after workouts. He spent most of his time with the other pitchers, but Poe kept trying to make sure they intermingled with the position players too. If he kept insisting on being so irritatingly spirited about it, well, Finn had a fine outlet for his cynicism.

“I'd call them more fair-weather fans,” Poe said, “but that would imply we had actual fair weather.”

“Great. Perfect.”

“In the off-season people mostly talk about football.”

“We,” Finn asked, checking himself before he asked about _you_ , “will still _have_ a team by the time we get back to Hoth, right?” If the major leagues did go through with contracting the tiny northern franchises, he'd be no worse off than he had been when Takodana released him. All the same...

“San Tekka and the Urban Planning Committee are forcing us to honor the stadium contract,” Poe laughed. “Who'd have ever thought we'd be grateful for that piece of garbage?”

Finn shuddered, remembering what he'd seen of the Hoth Municipal Arena on TV. “Impressive.”

“And I guess that means the Empaths have to stay around in the Republic League? To keep the schedules fixed.”

“The Republic League can handle its own problems,” said Finn.

In Spring Training, of course, that wasn't even remotely true. Republic and Federation teams blended together to play preseason games, just based on where each team went to practice. The Gemini, for instance, would scrimmage against squads like the Bespin Corsairs who they would rarely see in the regular season.

Finn pitched the sixth inning of one of those Corsair games. A leadoff single wasn't the impression he was hoping to make, but he retired the next batter on a groundout to shortstop and another on a foul pop to first base. The next batter drew a walk, and he shook off a fastball from his catcher, hoping to retire Christopher Williams with the changeup. Eventually, Finn went with an inside curve, which induced Williams to pop up back to the mound. He settled under it, making the catch. Could have been worse.

And it gave him a chance to watch the Gemini's half-inning at bat from the dugout. Inez Garcia struck out looking, and Terrence Alcor flew out to left. With two outs, Rey strode forward and took a couple balls low and away. She fouled off the next pitch, but drew a walk from the Corsairs' reliever. Finn considered clapping, but caught a glance of Poe pacing the dugout and couldn't muster the energy. There was only so much pep to go around.

Sure enough, C. J. Madison grounded to short to end the inning, leaving Rey stranded. Jennifer Brooks came in to pitch the seventh, as the Gemini rotated through their pitchers. For Finn it was nothing new; he was used to pitching an inning at a time. Walking back to the bullpen to shower, he felt a pang of sympathy for the position players who were not used to playing so irregularly, getting seen for half of the game if that, desperate to leave a mark by any means necessary.

The Corsairs came back and won, scoring two off Hans Nelson in the eighth—a bad sign for Nelson's prospects, and the Gemini's collectively. Though, Finn figured, a marginally better one for every other pitcher.

So began their routine-that-wasn't. Organa scribbled down lineup after lineup and changed direction on whims, mid-game or mid-inning. When the phone rang in the bullpen, she was calling to summon any of the relief pitchers that towered over her, and Finn waited to sprint out to the mound. Or some games Organa wouldn't be there at all, leaving half the squad with her while the others split off and faced a similarly diminished lineup of Mustafar Vipers. The third-base coach, Bunji Baisho, was as analytic as Organa was intuitive. He always tried to “play the percentages,” justifying every substitution based on whether the pitchers and batters in question were right or left-handed, hoping it would work out in the long run even if it blew up in his face on any given day. None of this made the slightest difference against the Vipers, who were not only at home in the desert, but also the defending champions. They beat the Gemini, 10-2.

While Poe and Baisho laughed it up afterwards like nothing had happened, Rey was attempting to climb the walls or steal bases with the other split squad. It would be up to Finn to salvage something from the game, and he contented himself with the fact that Nelson was doing just as badly in the other split-squad game. And the fact that Takodana was still playing in the Cactus League, thousands of miles away.

* * *

Organa called Finn into her office a week before spring training wrapped up. Many of the other invitees had already been sent home or were packing for the trip north. Finn told himself that one way or the other, they'd all done their best—but that didn't mean he _knew_ them. Only superficially—Poe could always be goaded into karaoke and Rey would attempt ever-more-impressive dives at the pool, soaring like a bird against the desert night. In the grand scheme of things, that was nothing.

“So?” he asked, as Organa waved for him to take a seat. “What's this about?”

She stifled a laugh. “What do you think?”

“I—thought maybe you wanted to talk about Takodana.”

“I have sources,” she said. For a minute, she gave a smile like Ben's—too polished, photographable.

“Reliable ones, though?” Finn said, and then flinched.

Organa rolled her eyes. “Let's talk about _this_ season. Are you ready to be a full-time closer?”

Finn gaped. “In Triple-A?”

“In _Hoth_ , Bloggs, Commisioner Snoke hasn't gotten rid of us _just_ yet.”

There had been schadenfreude every time he'd watched Nelson struggle, but Finn didn't expect the spring statistics to count for all that much. Were the Gemini that desperate? “Of course I'd be honored.”

“Wonderful!” She reached across the desk, shaking his hand, and he imagined grasping a ball passed between them, her entrusting him to lock down game after game. Well, that would imply that the Gemini took leads into the ninth, but it could happen.

She scribbled something down on her clipboard. “Send Atkins in when you see her, will you?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Rey wasn't hard to find. She was holding an ice-pack to her shoulder, after running into the wall tracking down a long fly ball against the Naboo Seraphim. She promptly stowed it and strode toward Organa's office like she'd been waiting for the summons—and the good news that seemed to follow, as she strode right on out without breaking a sweat—all month. Maybe she _had._

* * *

_April_

Despite Poe's warnings, by Opening Day in Hoth it was at least above freezing, even if the fog and rain made it a bad day for literal fair-weather fans. Under the cover of the dome the game continued on, as always, though the Gemini fell too far behind to the Kashyyyk Helms to mount a comeback or for Finn to see any playing time at all.

Their next two games were not as well-attended, though the Gemini actually won them both. In the third, up by two in the ninth, Finn came in to pick up the save. He struck out Amanda Carpenter looking, gave up a single, and then Rob Picardy grounded into a double play to end the game. It was sudden, but a feeling he could get used to. (If he wanted. Rey grinned as she sprinted in from center field, and he figured he wouldn't mind being surprised by her smile after some more upsets.)

Two weeks later, the Gemini were in Corellia. April 17 marked fifty-seven years since Helen Callaghan had first taken the field for the Corellia Falcons. Callaghan's debut was in part a publicity stunt from maverick owner Bill Veeck to reinvigorate his struggling franchise. But it was also a last-ditch signing borne of wartime desperation. The presence of a female player had brought the team attention good and bad alike, but she was fast enough on the bases to quiet, if not silence, many critics. Women had been a fixture in the majors ever since.

Her son Casey was in town to threw out the first pitch. Both Organa and the Falcons' manager, Barbara Venture, echoed some soundbytes about the importance of ensuring young girls still had opportunities to play sports, and how great it was that they all had Callaghan's legend watching over them like her distant, untouchable uniform number, which was off-limits to future generations—nobody could imitate a legend.

Rey signed a slew of autographs for kids in the first few rows, not seeming to notice that most of them would rather have met the Falcons' starting pitcher, Megan Wright. _Rey Atkins_ , almost illegible, and then a more distinct _#33_. One perk of making the starting lineup was getting to trade in the temporary spring training number for something of her own choice. Finn didn't really have a reason for having kept 87; he didn't see a reason to switch from what the Gemini had given him.

He rolled his eyes as she climbed back into the dugout, still smiling. “You didn't tell them they have to save them because they'll be worth a lot of money someday when you're the greatest ever?”

“Give Jackie Robinson's family a couple years, and Commissioner Snoke will have them out here making speeches,” said Rey. “Then you'll get to sign all those autographs.”

“ _Get_ to?”

“You don't like kids?”

“Kids are all right,” he shrugged. They looked up to him. That was the problem.

But finally the ceremonies were over with and there was nothing but the relentless gaze of fans in the seats, above half-circles of colorful bunting. Bunting of the other sort was on display too, because it took Rey drawing a walk for the Gemini to reach base against Wright. Terrence Alcor sacrificed her to second, and Alexander Sarai hit a long fly to the warning track that the Falcons' right fielder hunted down; Rey advanced to third. Tiffany Maynard hit a sharp grounder back to the mound, and Wright scooped it up and tossed it over towards first base for what should have been an easy out to end the inning. Instead, the man playing first for the Falcons got pulled off the bag, and Rey sprinted home on the error. One-nothing Gemini, without a hit.

That would change moments later, when Joaquin Ibanez smacked a double into left to score Tiffany and provide an insurance run. Wright finally got Poe to foul back behind the plate, killing the rally.

The Gemini maintained a two-run lead for most of the game. Both teams hit solo home runs, through Tiffany and Noemi Luna, before Finn entered in the top of the ninth for the save. He got the leadoff batter to ground out, but the next hitter doubled into left. That brought Luna back up. Alexander, the catcher, signaled to pitch to her outside and not give her much to hit. Finn nodded, but on the second pitch, Luna pulled one down the line. Mike Donohue, playing left, scrambled to come up with it, but the runner on second scored easily off a big lead to narrow the gap.

Organa paced out to the mound, Alexander joining them at what passed for a jog by the big catcher's standards. “I'm all right!” Finn protested. “I can do it.”

“What do you think?” Organa was peering up at Finn himself, not looking at Alexander.

“Candelaria is up next. You want to pitch her high and get her to swing early,” he answered.

“That's right,” said Organa. “Venture might pinch-hit here. If it's Kennedy or someone, fastballs, low and in.”

That was it? No question of trust in him? “Right.”

Organa nodded, and Alexander took his time wandering back behind the plate. Trying to summon up any calm and ignore the myriads of screaming Falcons fans, their hopes for a rally propelling them out of their seats, he turned to the plate. Sure enough, Stuart Kennedy was pinch-hitting, and Finn promptly delivered an inside fastball. Kennedy fouled it back, took the next one for a ball, fouled Finn's changeup away.

The fourth pitch got sent deep into center field. For one wild moment Finn thought Rey would propel herself backwards with enough speed to catch up to it, but that was impossible. She could only do her best to track it down and hit the cutoff as Kennedy motored into second base. Luna came into score, and the game was tied.

When Organa returned to the mound moments later, Finn had no words, just gave her the ball and departed to the thrilled screams of the Falcon faithful. He shuffled back to the clubhouse, then looked up at a television displaying the game, and hesitated. It had not occurred to him, _really_ sunk in, until that moment, that the Gemini would have their own announcers, and that Maz Kanata would have stayed behind in Takodana. Maz was ageless—for generations' worth of Knights fans, she was the voice of a game, bearing witness to its changes and constancies.

Well, he'd just have to find out how Hoth did it. Collapsing in front of a TV, Finn prepared himself for the announcers' critiques; if they were half as knowledgeable as Maz, they'd still have plenty of statistics prepared about the dismal failings of the new number eighty-seven, and if they were half as classy as her, they'd at least find some creative way to express them rather than rub it in.

What followed was the most anticlimactic half-hour of broadcasting he'd ever heard. First, the cursory note that Brianna Trier, who'd come on in relief of him, had recorded a pop-up, so at least the Falcons wouldn't walk off. Some commercials, almost all of which were not for snowmobiles (even in April, Hoth natives planned ahead). Then the perfunctory announcement that Will Johnson had walked, Mike struck out, Poe's single had made it first and third, and Xiomara Paul's hit regained the lead for the Gemini. Rey grounded into a double play, though, to kill the rally. Organa left Brianna, all of a sudden the potential winning pitcher, in for the bottom half, and she had no trouble retiring the side in order—a grounder to third, a flyout to right, and a strikeout looking to finish it off. “That's your final score,” droned the announcer, “four-three in ten innings.”

And then the clubhouse filled up, and Finn remembered he still needed to shower and move on, but nobody seemed to care that he'd blown the save—Brianna and Xiomara had their chance to be heroes, after all, and wasn't that a great way to celebrate Helen Callaghan Day. “Just in case this whole 'closing' thing doesn't work out,” he muttered to Rey as he extricated himself from the crowd, “not that there's _any_ reason to worry about that, I can always go into announcing and be a little more—interested—than those guys.”

“These guys are fine,” Rey shrugged. “They get it, they explain it, what's not to like?”

“They don't care about the _Gemini_ at all!”

“Oh, because Maz Kanata is so biased when she talks?”

“That's different.”

“Is it?”

“She just doesn't want to sound one-sided, but she loves the Knights. Otherwise she wouldn't have been with them for, you know. Half a century.”

“Half a century is a long time,”said Rey.

“You're not suggesting she's past it, are you?” Finn protested. Maz was the one part of Takodana he felt obliged to defend. Other announcers quoted “this day in baseball history,” but Maz had lived and breathed it the first time around. “She's still a genius.”

“Uh-oh,” Poe called, “do you have a crush, Finn?”

“ _What_?”

“It's all right,” Poe immediately said, “every baseball fan loves Maz, in their own way. If I had to pick a lady, she'd be right up there.”

Rey blushed deeply. “Never mind.”

Half a century _was_ a long time, Finn conceded; long enough for Callaghan and Robinson to pass from outcasts to laboring icons, to the grave, to unimpeachable legends. Had time blinded his icon to Takodana's faults?

* * *

_May_

Things had settled down a little for the Gemini. The weather was less brutal, and there were more breezy days when they flew back in from out-of-town road trips. To Finn, his apartment in uptown Hoth still felt much the same as the hotels in cities they visited—a place to spend only a few days at a time before moving on. The only difference was that there weren't teammates a room or two over with their daily rituals to maintain, trying to keep to their own rhythm even as jet lag took its toll. But as much as he could, checking into and out the hallways in Corellia and Kashyyyk, Finn kept his eyes down. It wasn't any of his business what Rey got up to across the hall—any fan would count themselves lucky to be on the same plane as her, watching her giggle at a Leia Organa bobblehead or trash-talk Terrence's basketball predictions. Finn could do the same, and be grateful for the chance.

The Gemini didn't feel like a dominant force by any means, and yet, just like that day in Corellia had proven, they didn't have to be perfect to beat the rest of the division—even on a regular basis. Kashyyyk were still the leaders, but the Gemini weren't far behind.

Bigger news, according to Poe, came from the commissioner's office. “The owners signed off on contraction terms! They can't renegotiate the size of the league this year.”

Baisho laughed. “Not even Snoke wants to mess with Lor San Tekka's legalese.”

“Well, that's great!” said Finn.

“It's a start,” Poe said. “We still need to renew the collective bargaining agreement—we players, that is.”

“Don't _we_ me,” Finn said, “I'll go with whatever the union agrees on, sure, but I'm not—anybody's negotiating representative.”

“Never said you were, sorry.”

“Let me guess,” Rey chimed in, “the great captain's got that covered too.”

“Oh, please tell me you're interested.” Finn rolled his eyes. “I'll nominate you.”

“I have no idea, I'd be awful at it!”

“Poe's not bad, for a player,” winked Baisho, “he cares about getting this sorted out.”

“Can no one take a _joke_ around here,” Finn muttered, storming off to retrieve his jersey. The lockers that held the team's uniforms were merely small bins against one wall of the clubhouse—changing and showering took place in private stalls.

All too soon, it was time to reconvene for the long flight out to the coast. The road trip would bring the Gemini up against the mighty Tatooine Raiders, who were contending for _their_ divisional lead against their archrivals of D'Qar.

Finn gave the Raiders credit where it was due—the Tatooine Colosseum was a magnificent building. Its concrete felt less drab, its advertisements less gaudy, than the Municipal Arena. Could that really be? Surely the Raiders' money came from somewhere, after all, since they had plenty to spend. Maybe he was just letting himself get intimidated by their history.

Who cared about history? It didn't matter how many championships Tatooine had won, how many great home runs their sluggers had hit or how many records they'd set, it didn't make their stadium any more beautiful. As well let himself get talked into believing the Municipal Arena was ugly _just_ because it was a dome. It wasn't fair to expect Hoth to be as warm and dry as Tatooine, that would never happen. All that mattered was the game on the field.

It still didn't actually make the Municipal Arena any more attractive by comparison.

“All right, sightseeing later,” Baisho called, “let's get moving.”

Finn was only too happy to get moving, sprinting to a bathroom on the top deck. Once he'd finished, he headed back towards the elevators, expecting to find the deck empty. The Tatooine skyline beyond was a breathtaking view, of course, with skyscrapers rising into a cloudless sky. And once the gates opened, history-minded fans would come by to gawk and tour the shrine of hats the Raiders preserved. From cloth caps to sleek, dark helmets, every era of their many pennants was represented.

Organa stood alone, transfixed in front of a helmet that had been Anakin Skywalker's—the hard-throwing pitcher who had led them to an uninterrupted record streak of championships in the 40s and 50s. Finn scowled, not having taken her for a sentimental tourist, yet at once felt like it would have been out of place to interrupt. He hurried past to an escalator, clambering down to the field. At least all the Gemini players seemed to have taken Baisho's advice to heart. There was Poe, slowly adjusting the donuts to weight his bat as he took some practice swings; Jack Douglas, the starting pitcher, conferring with Alexander about how to handle the Raiders' switch-hitters; Rey, whirling in the afternoon sun.

“Any chance Organa shows up?” Finn asked Baisho, when she still hadn't shown.

“Everyone's busy in Tatooine,” Baisho only shrugged. “I wouldn't worry.”

Easy for him to say, Finn figured, but she slipped in just in time for the national anthem and the increasingly-elaborate patriotic displays that went with it.

The Raiders got to Jack in the fifth, driving him out of the game after a three-run homer deep to left-center. They kept going, with a walk given up by Kristy Feldman, a double, a lucky flyout to Will in right, and a single that brought in their fifth run of the inning. They eventually batted around before the young shortstop who had led off the inning finally fouled out to Alexander, and put the Gemini out of their misery.

Well, sort of. Finn was more than content to listen to Brianna narrate the appealing features of the fans in section 138, and describe the excellent nightclubs that made attractive destinations for visiting superstars (as if) to Tatooine, convinced that there was zero chance this game would turn into a Gemini save situation.

Except for the fact that Rey walked, leading off the top of the seventh, and took a big lead off the bag. Stealing when the Gemini were _down_ by that much wasn't tacky so much as a senseless risk, and it wasn't like the signs were anything Finn needed to know. But she was running with the first pitch to Terrence, and the Raiders' surprised catcher threw the ball into short right, letting Rey take third. Terrence worked the count, and eventually drove the ball into right-center for a single and one run.

Alexander flew out to right, but Terrence was able to move over to second, where he scored on Tiffany's single. Randy Langlands, the Raiders manager, called for a reliever, and Mallory Ortiz pitched Joaquin Ibanez low and inside. He broke his bat grounding out to the mound.

Ortiz continued to miss the plate, aiming low to Will, who swung at a few bad pitches but eventually held up. The catcher came out to consult with her, and she nodded briskly before throwing a slider that Will fouled away. He drove a single just beyond third, scoring Tiffany.

Mike struck out, biting early on a changeup from Ortiz, and she tried it again to get ahead of Poe. He took the next one for a ball, then launched another deep to left-center. The backpedaling center fielder went after it, confident he could make it as he leaped at the wall, but there was no chance. It cleared the wall, for the Gemini's fourth, fifth, and sixth runs of the inning, tying the game at eight. Xiomara got a single off yet another relief pitcher, keeping the rally alive, but Rey grounded to short and the inning fizzled out.

Yet another singer was trotted out to perform a song about the abiding glories of the nation during the stretch, before fans could actually get to “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.” Finn could only wonder whether, six weeks into the season, Langlands was already tired of it. He stood at the edge of the dugout, leaning forward, but he was peering down at his clipboard too, using the forced break to strategize rather than stand at attention. Finn tried to catch his eye once the real singing began and gave him a sympathetic smile, rolling his eyes at the departing singers' back.

But though pinch-hitters from both sides were left stranded in scoring position in the eighth, neither team could get another run in. By the top of the ninth, Brianna had come in to mow down the Raiders, getting their left fielder to strike out swinging and catching their shortstop looking. Organa left her in for the tenth after the Gemini couldn't break through in the top half, and while she walked their catcher with one out, the next batter grounded into a double play.

In the top of the eleventh, Daniel Andrews, the pitching coach, told Finn he could finally get throwing, but all three of the Gemini were put out. “Organa wants you anyway,” said Andrews. “Go get 'em.”

He took the mound against a whirl of sounds and lights, Langlands scratching out name after name as pinch-hitters faced him. One fouled out to Mike in left, another grounded out to Tiffany at first, and at last it was onto the twelfth. But Hoth went down in order there, too; Rey and the benchwarmers who'd been substituted in were no more fortunate against the Raiders' reliever than anyone else.

Finn could only hope he would be as off-putting to the rest of the Raiders. He brought the heat to strike out the first batter, but felt his velocity slipping against the second. Shaking off Alexander until the catcher put down the sign for a changeup, Finn finally induced a groundout to third. Though the next batter walked, Alexander insisted on going with a fastball to the Raiders' right fielder, and she fouled out to right.

While Joaquin got a hold of a long fly ball in the top of the thirteenth, it was harmlessly caught by the Raiders' burly center fielder, and nobody else hit it out of the infield. Hans was called upon to pitch the bottom half, and Finn, pacing back to the locker room, could only hope they'd make it to the fourteenth. Would there be another stretch? More patriotic music?

The Raiders led off with a single. Alexander ran out to the mound and talked things over with Hans, who got the next batter to ground into a fielder's choice at second. Then the center fielder came to the plate, and launched one deep towards Rey. She retrieved in on a couple hops and ignored Xiomara, who had positioned herself for the cutoff at second, instead sprinting towards the infield to try and reach Alexander directly. The ball fell short of home plate; Tiffany came tearing in to back them up, but it was too late for the Gemini to do anything but watch the lead batter sprint in for a walk-off victory and the other Raiders mob her at the plate.

“Don't worry about it,” said Poe, once everyone had joined Finn in the clubhouse, “Put the loss behind you, we'll get them tomorrow.”

“It's just one game,” Finn said, “They don't have to celebrate like it's September.”

“The games in September count the same,” Rey pointed out, “so technically, it makes just as much sense.”

“Whatever, I bet Langlands thinks they have no class—”

“Since when do you care what _Langlands_ thinks?”

“Rookies,” said Poe. “Who's for checking out a real Tatooine cantina, huh?”

Rey rolled her eyes. “Maybe not tonight.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone who's everyone gives them a try. Right, Finn?”

Finn gulped. “Of course,” he said. “I came through here with the Knights—even the Republic League goes to Mos Eisley.”

It was technically true. Tatooine was big enough to have two teams, and everyone who was everyone had gone to Mos Eisley after the series Takodana had played against them. Finn had been no one.

“You heard him,” said Poe, “come on. Wanna drive, Finn?”

“I didn't say I was _driving_ in Tatooine traffic.”

“How are we supposed to haze the rookies,” Poe teased, “if we can't even make them drive through Tatooine?”

“Bring it up at the contract meetings,” Baisho said. “Have fun.”

“If you really need a rookie,” Rey said, “I can drive!”

Rey's idea of driving consisted of one part cursing out Tatooine traffic to two parts surprising them by finding out-of-the-way corners to take far too tightly. Perhaps fortunately, the cantina had valet parking, so they were spared her diatribe about the difficulties of finding a meter, even for a professional baseball player. It was enough for Finn to want to see if she was just as linguistically creative in Hoth, which did not have nearly as many cantinas, but had a lot more words for snow which could make some very original compounds.

“Right!” he announced, as they stepped inside, “Mos Eisley!”

The discordant strains of the band which occupied the bar's stage (and painfully reverberating out of every speaker) were enough to drive almost anyone to drink who wasn't already there for that purpose. In spite of himself, Finn almost felt sorry for every visiting player who'd gotten their taste of Tatooine culture there—even the Knights.

Poe nudged Finn, indicating that he'd made out someone's coherent greeting amid the noise. The bartender had recognized Poe, and by extension, the other Gemini. “You must be Atkins,” he grinned. “The rookie phenom?”

“There's a lot of that going around,” Poe said.

“'Rookie' being the operative word, I suppose.” He slid her another menu.

She glanced it over. “I didn't know you were into law-abiding bars, Poe.”

“I'm into lots of bars,” said Poe, “but trust me that Finn doesn't want to hear the rest of Tatooine if he thinks the music _here_ is bad,” said Poe.

Finn laughed. “What do you actually want?”

“To go home and put this game behind me,” said Rey.

“Can't handle the...” he waved a hand at the band. “Ambiance?”

“I bet I can last as long as you. Without the benefit of mind-altering substances.”

“You're on,” Finn declared.

Three mediocre non-alcoholic beers, and five “songs” later, Poe's Nokia went off. For a split-second, Finn wondered whether it was an alarm Poe himself had set. Maybe the captain just took turns trying to befriend all the rookies, and when he'd just gotten stuck with the youngest and most recalcitrant of the Gemini he'd had to make up a curfew to end the “drinking” contest in a tie and put them all out of their misery.

But Poe answered it anyway. “No, I'm out,” he explained, “I'm at Mos Eisley, I'm—I can't talk—you—oh no, oh _no_. My gosh...I'm sorry. No...do you have a flight? I'll come back. Hang on. Okay? Just a minute, I'll text you.” He gripped the phone silently.

“What happened?” “Is everything all right?” “What can we do?” Finn, Rey, and the bartender blurted.

“Let's get out of here,” Poe said. “These two will give the Raiders a scare tomorrow, look out.”

“Come back when you do,” the bartender said brightly, settling the bill. “Sign some autographs, these fans aren't so bad once you convince them you're not just flyover country.”

“Sure, definitely,” Finn lied.

Poe rushed out of the cantina, already texting rapidly, waiting for the car to reemerge. “It's Leia,” he whispered, as they stepped into the street. “She—I don't know how much she wants me to share. She's all right, physically, but might need to leave the team for a few days. Family emergency.”

Had Ben found some way to ruin everything, from across the country? Trust him to get sick enough to throw _two_ leagues out of whack.

“Poor thing,” Rey murmured, but then scowled as the car pulled up. “Did this just happen?”

“I guess? She seemed fine during the game.”

If anything had happened to Ben people would know. The headlines would already be pouring in if his Homeric ambitions had been thwarted by some tragic flaw. But in _Tatooine_? Climbing into the car—Poe waved for him to take shotgun, apparently needing the entire back seat to hide his texting—Finn almost felt grateful for the epic scale of their defeat. Raiders fans could be complacent, used to victory, or paranoid walking the streets of their city, but one thing they never were was apathetic about their own hometown team. Surely no one else could overshadow that victory, dispiriting as it had been for Hoth.

“I'll let the others know—the old crowd, Alex, Jack and them,” Poe explained.

“It's fine, we'll get back _real_ fast,” Rey vowed. She eyed a merge onto the freeway, ignoring it and heading for a different tollbooth instead.

“ _Thorns for your suppose?_ She's the best manager I've ever known, but she's really bad at texting.”

“How many managers have you ever known, Poe?” Finn asked. “Recently enough to text?”

Rather than answer, Poe scrounged for change for the tollbooth, before Rey jerked ahead and they sped into the night. Back in Takodana, Phasma probably had a cell phone, abbreviated with the best of them, used some strange argot he wouldn't have to worry about deciphering...

When they reached the hotel, Poe dashed to the elevator. Finn glanced over at Rey, who seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open. He opened his mouth to speak, but broke off. Maybe they really would be all right, but there was no sense in him trying to tell her that, no matter how nice it would sound. For all their exhaustion, she already looked more put-together than he was, more willing to believe it.

“Get 'em tomorrow?” she suggested.

He looked over at the lobby clock. “Today.”

Finn didn't expect to sleep, afraid for Leia and her family, embittered that he'd been caught up in the middle of it and still left on the outside, unsure whether to be jealous of distant timezones where the lonely morning hadn't happened yet or relieved he was already there, ready to move forward to whatever the future brought. Somehow he managed to, however. The next thing he knew, he was making his way down for game two. Nobody seemed to know anything more than he did, except that Baisho would be managing from the dugout.

The bats had been exhausted the day before, and there were no crooked numbers in store for either team. But the Raiders scored one run at a time, an RBI double here, a sac fly there. Finn wanted to believe the Gemini were hitting the ball hard, too, just right at the home fielders. It was easier to tell himself that then that they were off their game, trying too hard to win one for Leia and falling short. Or that the veterans actually got to know what was going on and _still_ couldn't do it.

By the eighth, the Gemini trailed by two, and when Andrews answered the phone, Finn wasn't sure who was left to mop up—if nothing else, Frieda Cayley had made it to the seventh, which had given the bullpen a little more time to recover from the night before. Andrews blinked, but nodded. “Get ready, Finn. Just in case.”

“In case we take the lead?” Finn asked, as Mike weakly popped out to the pitcher.

“In case, he says,” Andrews echoed. Finn didn't see a point in pushing the issue and got to work, slowly tossing fastballs and changeups to the bullpen catcher. The Colosseum bullpen was closed-off, with no risk of having a stray warm-up fly away from him and hit an unwary umpire; another advantage, he objectively conceded, that it had over the Municipal Arena. The inning ended very shortly after with Xiomara's strikeout and no further runs to the Gemini's name. Baisho waved him onto the mound anyway.

Finn didn't think Organa was radical enough to put in her closer when there wasn't a save to obtain—maybe it was just Baisho's idea of messing around when he had power to play with? All he could do was make the most of the remaining warmup pitches, then go after the heart of the Raiders' order. This time, the center fielder grounded meekly to short. Then their DH hit a hard liner that he caught almost by instinct. It stung, but it gave him time to stall before facing the next couple batters. While the first baseman walked, the shortstop flew out, and it was onto the ninth.

Langlands got to bring in the Raiders' closer, though, for completely expected reasons, and she retired the side in order. A boring save.

“What's even the point?” Finn asked Baisho afterwards.

Baisho raised his eyebrows, stifling a laugh. “You're free to _not_ play.”

“Er—no, feel free. I just don't want you to start going completely crazy, you seemed like you were auditioning to be the Rhinos' manager.”

“Between us, it doesn't make sense to leave you on the bench. Organa thinks highly of you, or she wouldn't have given you the closer's job—I'm just taking that one step further.”

“Thanks.” Finn avoided Baisho's eyes. Instead, he started trying to decide where else to go in Tatooine. Many of the biggest tourist traps would have long and unpleasant lines even for them. Maybe there were some restaurants where the emphasis was just on innovative cuisine, rather than drinking. And people willing to drive out of their way. As he headed out, he realized that Rey would probably welcome the laws about underage drinking if it meant she was forced to be everyone's designated absurd driver for...two years? Nobody had any idea what they were in for...

“Where're you going?” Baisho interrupted him. “Team meeting.”

“Now?”

“It's about Leia.”

“And she couldn't do that when she was here?” Baisho shot him a look. “Sorry.”

Finn paced back to the clubhouse. Rather than Baisho, it was Poe who addressed the team. “I don't mean to keep you,” he said. “Just thought we should all be on the same page. Organa's—er—husband, Han Solo, died last night.” Murmurs of surprise rippled and fell silent throughout the clubhouse, but Finn said nothing, just stared up at Poe. “It was pretty sudden, it sounds like a heart attack, and unexpected. Of course, Leia's going back for the funeral. Some of you haven't met Solo, he could be kind of...from a different era, you know...but I really think he was always on Leia's side, no matter where she got to.”

“What the heck's that supposed to mean?” Rey asked.

“Just—let her know when she gets back that you're thinking of her, and we keep doing our jobs. Yeah?”

“Sure?”

“That's all I've got.”

Was that what happened on a team where the fans didn't care? Someone that hesitant about Han Solo's legacy could still be heralded as an inspirational captain? He found himself wondering how other teams would have handled it, whether one voice would have told everyone what to think, and slumped towards the exit. But once again, someone caught up with him—this time, it was Rey. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked.

“Yeah!” Finn brightened, looking up. “Absolutely.”

“Stop looking like you're about to fall asleep.”

“What? I'm not about to fall asleep!”

“I wanted to hear Poe talk about Han Solo,” she hissed under her breath, “if he's gonna not bother because you clearly don't care, what's the point.”

“Go ask him yourself! Do I look like I control what he talks about?”

“No, but he—forget it.” Rey broke off, dashing to try and catch Poe.

“Did Poe ever know Solo anyway?” Finn called after her, but she didn't turn.

So he left on his own, hoping to find a decent Tatooine restaurant. If they wanted to live in the past, let them. He could set his jet-lagged clock by the articles that would assault him without trying; first there would be the cursory headlines. Then the summary of Solo's base-stealing years with Corellia, his resurgence as a leader with the Yavin upstarts in the sixties. Tributes to his and Organa's unlikely partnership, on and then off the field, and the family they'd begun. Finn could count himself lucky if he made it out of Tatooine before the next wave came in, whatever people found to try to be edgy and different.

They _did_ make it out of Tatooine quickly. The third game of the series was played in the afternoon, in part so the Gemini could catch their flight. The Raiders were held to a few scattered hits against Lucas Espinoza. Baisho brought Finn in by the book. He pitched a one-two-three ninth for the save.

Not until they were back in Hoth did Finn have time to turn away from the other articles. The ones about how everyone in Corellia in the sixties was doing meth, which couldn't have been good for anyone's long-term health, and if We the Pundits don't know that Solo _was_ we don't know that he _wasn't_ either, and anyway isn't all this moralizing about steroids pointless. About how he and Organa hadn't slept in the same bed for years, said a friend of a friend, and why did they bother staying together anyway, and do intra-team relationships really pan out decades down the line.

Part of Finn wanted to talk to Poe, if not about those, just about Hoth in general. How did Poe keep giving it his best, day after day, when so many fans seemed to care less about the game on the field and more about how hip and uncaring they were? But that would just be giving Poe the satisfaction of having been right all along about putting his own spin on the news. So he kept silent.

Organa was back in time for the home series against Yavin, and showed no emotion as she led the Gemini against the team she had once called her own. She didn't even criticize Baisho's choices in pitching, at least not where Finn could see it.

When D'Qar came to visit at the end of the month, Poe hit a hard line drive that rolled into the right field corner, made it into second easily, got waved to try for third, slid to beat the throw, then didn't get up, cramping in pain with an injury to his leg. It was the first time Finn saw her wince.

* * *

_June_

Poe was placed on the disabled list for two weeks, and claimed that he'd be fine and could use the time to make suggestions for the next collective bargaining agreement. Terrence announced that he had further off-field good news.

“I bet you do,” Finn muttered, wondering what could possibly qualify unless maybe the Hoth ownership had signed Maz Kanata away from Takodana.

“Didn't take you for a betting man,” Alexander smirked. Finn stiffened. “Relax, it's a joke. What's up?”

“Rey's leading!” Terrence announced.

Since she did that pretty sizably every time she got to a base, Finn blinked. “ _Off-_ field?”

“The All-Star vote?” Alexander asked. “Not bad!”

“Seriously?” Finn broke into a smile. “That's great. Do people in other cities actually...appreciate that?”

“I mean, the rest of the division is even worse,” Terrence said.

“And she's cute,” Tiffany pointed out. “What? It doesn't hurt.”

“See, this is why democracy can't be trusted,” said Alexander.

“Everyone can vote! It's fair!”

The rest of the division, indeed, continued to be worse, and Finn dared to wonder whether he'd stumbled into something exceptional. Or perhaps it was their opponents who were the real story, far from the bright lights and sonorous voices of Takodana? Either way, Hoth would have a much sterner test ahead on the opposite coast, where they had to take on Coruscant, Jakku, and Naboo.

Finn wasn't sure how the hitters prepared for dealing with the Coruscant Navigators, but the pitchers all worried about dealing with Ryuichi Deguchi. Their star batter didn't seem to have any particular weaknesses. “I could try throwing a knuckleball?” Kristy suggested.

Finn stared at her. “You can throw a knuckleball?”

“Nope. But I bet he can't hit one, either.”

Ultimately, facing Deguchi was less targeted approach than resigned containment. True to reputation, he got three hits their first game—two singles and a double that scored two runs. But the rest of their lineup didn't reach base often enough for him to be a dangerous threat. Between Rey's singles and Tiffany's homers, Hoth took the first game 5-3.

“You need his autograph, or something?” Kristy suggested to Baisho.

“Whose?” Baisho blinked.

“This team's amazing pitching coach who has no idea what he's doing.” She rolled her eyes. “Deguchi! It'll be good for him to have someone to talk to.” Unlike Baisho, who had moved to the US for college, Deguchi had only recently signed with Coruscant from the Japanese leagues and still needed an interpreter for most interviews.

“If you don't think it'd be weird?”

“The Navigators' manager might think it's weird,” Finn pointed out. “Fraternizing with the enemy. But it's worth a shot.”

“Nothing to lose,” Baisho agreed, giving a smile and taking off. He'd seemed quieter than usual that trip, too; it couldn't hurt.

Finn wasn't sure whether they'd made contact, but it did seem like Hoth didn't need much coaching for the other two games either. They tested the arm of Navigators' left fielder several times in the second game, and by the last game they even held Deguchi himself to a walk and a fielder's choice, sweeping the series.

Then it was on to Jakku. Unfortunately, the Rhinos were having an uncharacteristically fantastic year by the standards of anyone in either league, and the Gemini had to play them. Fortunately, the Rhinos were having an uncharacteristically fantastic year by the standards of anyone in either league, which meant they were upstaging Takodana, who watched from across the way and gave thanks they were in the Republic League. If they were in a grateful mood.

The crowds were better than he'd imagined Jakku drawing, even if the stadium reminded Finn more of the Municipal Arena than the Colosseum. These Rhinos chained together long strings of walks and hits, with keen eyes that left the Gemini on the mound to wilt in the heat. There was nothing close to a save situation for the Gemini in the first game, and they lost 8-2.

It was more than enough for Finn to want something to look forward to, beyond “not playing Jakku.” “Er—Rey?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering—tomorrow, maybe—do you want to drive over into Takodana? It's a little out of the way, but I can show you some of the places I used to hang out. And...I promise the music is better than Mos Eisley.”

“You mean, like—you and me?”

Did she think that would be weird? “Well, I could ask—” He broke off.

“Poe is still on the DL,” Rey pointed out.

“Right. I knew that.”

“Sure you did,” she laughed.

“Nah, who else is fun. Kristy? Terrence?”

“I trust you,” Rey smiled, “as long as there are no cantinas.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The thought of going back with Rey almost made Takodana bearable, and sustained him through the second game, which went just about as badly as the first—a sustained Rhino stampede, 7-0. They didn't even hit the ball that hard, or throw with that much firepower. But Hoth swung early and pitched outside the strike zone, and Finn almost felt jealous of Poe, resting up back in Hoth. Maybe he could have made it something a little respectable, like...what, 7-1?

There was no shortage of disappointed, apologetic faces in the dugout afterwards, Rey's not least among them. But hers seemed to be for a different reason. “Finn, I'm really sorry, but, uh, I can't go.”

“What?”

“I—have another thing.”

“Another thing? _Here_?”

“This guy wants to interview me.”

That was nothing new; from newspapers to radio, it was part of the cycle. But usually, postgame reactions were part of the ballpark schedule, penciled in around the showers and meals. Tiffany dodged them on her way down the tunnel, having spotted an array of seafood awaiting the visitors in the clubhouse. “Okay? Go for it.”

“Thanks. Uh, see you around.”

Finn wound up driving around Jakku on his own, but couldn't bring himself to go out to any of the clubs. It wasn't the same without Rey's reckless driving.

He did seek out a sound he knew, though. Maz was finally in earshot on his radio dial, after he tuned through a healthy dose of static. He let her voice wash over him, listening as Ben fouled out or Phasma called to the bullpen he had once called home.

But he was a pitcher, it was his job to make sure people could not reach home again, and that included Takodana. Even if it meant Hoth would never feel like home either, it was worth it to be far beyond Phasma's reach when she called.

“So?” Alexander asked Rey the next day. “How'd it go?”

“Fine, I guess,” Rey answered. “It's this guy from the newspaper, Chikara Onuki? They brought him in to interview Deguchi when he came down here, because, you know, he can speak Japanese. But that was before the Rhinos started winning everything, so now he's covering them all the time. I think he wants to write a book or something.”

“Quoting you?”

“On how bad it feels to lose like this, I guess, which is pretty terrible.” Finn got the feeling that Rey's actual description was just about as creative as her summary of the Tatooine traffic.

“Why'd he want you, Rey?” Tiffany asked.

Rey shrugged. “Cause Poe Dameron's out hurt.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Organa said. “The Rhinos' GM admires players like you very much.”

“Like _me_? I think they probably couldn't stand me. Cause I like to steal,” Rey grinned. “And take risks. And if they can't put a number on how good I am at catching balls, I dunno if he cares.”

“You wouldn't be such a threat to steal if you weren't very good at getting on base to begin with, which Plutt _does_ value,” Organa said. “I've let the front office know you're not for sale.”

They wouldn't dare trade Rey, would they? With Poe out hurt, the division's leaders deserved _some_ qualified All-Star. He hoped whatever she did wouldn't impress Unkar Plutt so much that he'd be desperate to make a move for her.

In fact, she did walk and steal a base, scoring on Terrence's double. The Gemini only lost by four.

The Naboo Seraphim were a fairly good team whose biggest weakness seemed to be being stuck in the same division as the Rhinos. The lead swung back and forth in the first game, with Rey driving in a couple with a long single, then the Seraphim DH homering, Tiffany tying things with a double, Will dropping a fly ball that let the go-ahead run score. A lucky pinch-hit from Emily Palmer finally let the Gemini pull ahead in the top of the ninth. In the bottom, Finn faced runners on the corners with two out, before Will redeemed himself with a diving catch to secure the win.

Everything would go the Seraphim's way in the second game, beginning with a close slide at second that seemed like Rey might have been safe. The umpire disagreed. Organa came out to dispute the call, either because she actually believed the umpire needed to visit an ophthalmologist, or because she merely thought it would inspire the Gemini to see her defending them so stridently. After entertaining her opinion for a few minutes, the umpire ejected her from the game.

Baisho didn't resort to avant-garde substitutions. There weren't too many difficult choices to make when you were down by six in the sixth, except who to substitute in for Tiffany after she got stomach cramps.

Game three went to the Gemini, with back-to-back homers from Joaquin and Will. Not to be outdone, two of the Seraphim tripled, but one of them was stranded on third after some key strikeouts from Brianna.

Not the most dominant road trip, but far from the worst. After all, the rest of the Hoth's division were beating up on each other. Despite the mixed results, they were still a few games ahead of Kashyyyk, and Poe was coming back. Just in time to finalize the All-Star voting.

* * *

Ben Organa-Solo was an All-Star. Of _course_ he was. Finn didn't know what annoyed him more, that the fans had voted him in—why wouldn't they? He set records all the time, was on every broadcast and got all the big hits—or that Vanessa Wallace, the manager of the Mustafar Vipers and the Republic League team, had selected Richard Hux as a pitcher. Shouldn't the experts who knew the game know better than to pick a Knight?

Maybe she didn't. Maybe Vanessa Wallace, the champion, didn't know any better than a couple million fans.

What about Randy Langlands, the Raiders and the Federation League manager? Could _his_ judgment be trusted? Finn had imagined he'd found a kindred spirit in Langlands, someone sick of standing on ceremony when standing turned into drowning in it. He'd just had no idea how true that was.

Langlands had called them a few days after the voting closed. The fans across the country (and a few more in Canada) had spoken, and a plurality of them loved the exciting rookie that patrolled Hoth's outfield, stealing bases and robbing homers alike. For Rey, it was just a confirmation, with a hint of _please-don't-do-something-stupid-and-get-hurt-in-the-next-week_ on Langlands' part. He had similar calls to make across the country—mostly to Jakku, but a couple to Naboo as well, and Finn got the feeling everyone could just program Ryuichi Deguchi's number into their All-Star phones for the next few years.

But the pitching choices were his alone, and after irritating Unkar Plutt with the knowledge that a good deal of the Rhinos' staff would have to trek out to rainy Ahch-To rather than get a relaxing break, Langlands had called up Finn. “I've had my eye on you for a while,” he said, “and you're a huge part of why your team is getting the job done.”

“You're serious?” Finn blurted. “Me?”

“Of course!” Langlands laughed. “Welcome aboard!”

An All-Star, _him_? He couldn't believe it, not when Rey gave him a stinging high-five, not when Poe congratulated him and told him there was someone he really had to meet before he left town, not when Organa broke into a smile and told him she was grateful he'd come. He went home and stared up at the eighty-seven on his jersey, and cried.

* * *

_(September)_

Finn's arm was sore.

But that was what happened when one was a major league pitcher. He had pitched two innings against the Kashyyyk Bears and held his own, allowing one hit and one walk. No runs. There were lots of people fighting for roster spots—it was the end of the year—but if he kept it up, he could earn his place, his exploits heralded by Maz Kanata and so many others.

“You all right?” asked Richard Hux.

“I'm fine,” Finn said, stretching his arm and trying to ignore where it twitched. Richard Hux was talking to him! A teammate. An equal.

“You did great out there, I bet Phasma wants you strong and healthy for tomorrow.”

“You think?” Finn blurted, and couldn't help but smile.

“For sure. Listen, kid, if you ever get hurt out there, you come talk to us, okay?”

“Of course,” said Finn.

“Knights stick together. We don't want anyone to fall through the cracks.”

But two days later he was exhausted, the soreness threatening to overwhelm him. “Can I—er—warm up with you?” he asked. Hux was older and knew more than Finn, and pitched for far longer at a time than the relievers. If he wasn't too cool to spend time with the younger players, maybe he'd see something they couldn't, a flaw in his motion he could correct somehow...

“Sure thing,” Hux laughed, “go for it.”

While it didn't take Hux long to wander away from Finn's slow tosses, Finn pressed on anyway, trying to emulate the way Hux pitched out of the stretch sometimes. He didn't really expect Hux to catch up with him after the game, in which yet another Organa-Solo double led the Knights past the Vipers. Phasma had lots more players to rotate in, and neither Hux nor Finn had pitched.

But Hux was there, waiting until most of the team had cleared out before waving Finn over to his locker. “You still a little sore?”

Finn shrugged. “It'll get better.”

Nodding, Hux produced a small bottle of pills. “Try these if you need to get better—faster.”

“Oh?” Finn looked down. The top of the container was labeled _REN Enterprises_. “What are they?”

“Vitamins. Everyone takes them to bounce back when they're hurt.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone who doesn't want to fall behind. The rosters are huge, kid, keep up and we'll be the next Organa-Solos. Well, _we_ won't, we're pitchers, but you know what I mean.”

Finn looked around at the clubhouse, full of September callups. Suddenly, he was afraid he _did_ know what Hux meant. “Thanks,” he stammered, thinking fast. “I—appreciate it. Uh, don't go spreading this around, but I should probably run it by my doctor before I start anything new. I've got some...health issues of a...manly nature, and as long as I watch _everything_ I eat, there aren't any...side effects. But I'd rather not disrupt the balance, you know, until I know I have it under control.”

Hux sized him up, then stowed the pills back into his locker, laughing. “Oh, _dude_. Good for you for making it this far.”

“It's nothing,” Finn shrugged. “This is the easy part. Knights stick together, right? Like you said?”

“Of course.” Hux clapped him on the back. “Congrats.”

If his delicate manhood was the subject of Takodana gossip the next couple days, Finn didn't hear it, so deadset was he on talking privately with Phasma at her earliest convenience. The manager had her scouting reports ready for a series against Bespin, and stacked them aside. “Bloggs. Can I help you?”

Finn fixed her with an unyielding gaze. “What do you know about REN Enterprises?”

Phasma very slowly exhaled. “Do you start all your conversations this way?”

“I'm not going to mess around. Everyone talks smack about Organa-Solo in the press, maybe he gives some lip, but it's _our_ lip, I don't care. It's one thing to spread rumors about him juicing just because they don't like his attitude.”

“Your loyalty is commendable.”

“It was. Until Hux offered me some pills and said everyone was using them. Do you know about this?”

“I trust all of my players to take responsibility for their own health.”

“That's a cop-out.”

“What exactly are you objecting to? None of these alleged substances are against the league bylaws.”

“That doesn't make it _right_.”

“And whose standards are you suggesting we impose? Yours? Some half-dead fogey who wants to throw the sport back to the segregated leagues? The league is more profitable than ever—fans love action and record-setting, not this sanctimonious garbage. The country's in pain, they deserve a show.”

“Careful,” Finn forced a laugh, “I'm a pitcher. We're not too big on letting records get broken.”

“You could be big! In every way. There are strikeout records too, you know,” Phasma smiled. “Give yourself a chance.”

“By cheating?”

“By getting over yourself. You can be a small-minded rookie, or you can be part of something bigger, part of a _team_.”

Finn summoned up the memory of the last inning he'd pitched—getting the Bears to ground out, the fans who had left early to beat the crowd, the endless layer of peanuts on the bullpen floor. If that had to be his last afterimage of Takodana, it wasn't quite as good as the echo of Maz's voice, but it would be enough. “I want out.”

“What?” Her voice was only slightly higher, but he could faze Phasma the ever-ready.

“I'm not sticking around, not to turn a blind eye to this game in and game out. If you can get the front office to trade me or release me, that would probably be worth your while. Otherwise, I won't be sorry to pack it in.”

“You wouldn't dare blow the whistle on us. Besides, you don't see us winning the division by a mile, do you? All the other teams are just as—savvy as us.”

“That can't be.”

“Your naivety is destroying you.”

“Good news.” He shrugged. “You won't be stuck with me anymore.”

* * *

_July_

From what limited knowledge he'd had of Hoth, Finn had been right. Not all teams were built like Takodana. But Phasma had been right, too, because he certainly couldn't _prove_ it. He watched in silence, for months seeing stars old and new fight for the Gemini, but not daring to look too closely and see how they did it. It was hard enough to believe he had a place in the frigid city without probing into theirs.

So the sendoff breakfast before the All-Star Game, with teammates and journalists joining him and Rey to wish them well, mostly rolled off Finn. But when Poe insisted that no, they really had to meet the newest well-wisher, Rey bounced up after him, glancing over at Finn, who slowly followed.

He was a man much older than Organa, standing apart from the others but with a kindly light in his eyes. “I'm Poe Dameron,” Poe said. “These are Finn Bloggs, and Rey Atkins.” The man nodded as he shook their hand, respectful but not as caught up by baseball fever as the rest of the room. “Finn, Rey—this is Lor San Tekka.”

“I have no question you'll make Hoth proud,” San Tekka smiled. “I just wanted to thank you both, for everything you've done for this city.”

“I...” Rey stammered. “I think it's we who should be thanking _you_.”

“Absolutely,” said Finn, “thank you very much.” He glanced over at Rey, glaring at her to keep her talking.

Poe stepped in. “The _extremely_ honorable San Tekka ruled that we had to play through this season, even if the rest of the league would rather get rid of us.”

“What was it? The intangible interests of the public good? Blah blah blah,” Rey began, stopping herself just before launching into a less legalistic translation of the judge's ruling. Even San Tekka laughed.

“That's beautiful,” said Finn. Sounded like something the sanctimonious pundits would say. No, better than the pundits—Maz.

“We can never repay you,” Poe said, “but do you want tickets, maybe? I bet that could be arranged.”

“I think that might be a conflict of interest, and to tell you the truth, I'm not much of a spectator,” San Tekka said. “Just do your best the rest of the way.”

“Tell Commissioner Snoke that Lor San Tekka said hi,” Poe added, “I'm sure he'd really like that.”

Rey giggled. “Will do.”

“How do you do it?” Finn asked. “I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to have someone impartial making decisions. But you still get up every day and believe you can figure out how to bring, like, justice and everything?”

“A little faith goes a long way,” said San Tekka, “and at my age, I would think my job is a lot easier than yours.”

“Do you have a problem with, like, justice and everything?” Rey echoed. “I mean, _we're_ here, aren't we?”

“No,” said Finn. “Quite the opposite.”

“That's all we can ask for,” said Poe.

“I don't know, I think Rey wants this dude's autograph before we head out.”

“Shut up,” said Rey, but she was smiling.

“I'd better not see you in court, young lady,” San Tekka said.

“You won't,” said Rey, just as Finn was asking “just how many speeding tickets do you have piled up?”

“Half of them are on the road so they're not in his jurisdiction,” Poe said.

“Half of zero is zero,” Rey smirked, and left the breakfast with one elaborate autograph in her pocket, no uniform numbers necessary.

Finn took nothing physical from the conversation with San Tekka, only the echo of the judge's voice in his mind as they flew above the clouds to Ahch-To. But as they approached the city, he turned to Rey, waiting for her to look up from the scouting reports Langlands had sent about the Republic League players.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“So, I had a question. And hey, this might be ridiculous, in which case—we still go back to Hoth after this is all over and keep doing our jobs, yeah?”

“Uh-huh?” Rey echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“The home run derby tonight? I'm not all that interested—”

“You're not interested in the home run derby?”

“Uh, that's not what I meant. What I was saying is, maybe if we had some time, you and I could go wander around Ahch-To somewhere. Like, on a date. Er, I know there's not all that much to do that isn't breweries which isn't fair, exactly, but I'm sure we could find something, and—”

It was still Rey he was talking to, Rey who rolled her eyes but didn't even try pushing the drinking age—how could he have imagined she would cheat? “Did you just ask me out?”

“Yes?”

“I'd—like that a whole lot! I mean, I'd like to go to the derby, too, but—”

“We'll find time! If it means that much to you.”

“If I'd known you were available, I'd have asked you months ago!”

“I was single, I mean...” Finn trailed off. He hadn't put down roots in Hoth, hadn't convinced himself he'd earned a place, that it'd ever be worth settling down. It still wasn't a certainty, but there was hope, for once.

“You and Poe were never a thing?”

“ _Poe_ and I? I mean, he's a friend—he tries to be everyone's friend, I guess, but—we're not— _no_. Not like that.”

“Oh. Huh.” Rey blushed. “Good!”

The captain was one of the warmest people on the team, never tiring in trying to draw rookies out of their shells at their own pace—breakneck and fearful alike. Finn felt a surge of gratitude towards his friend for putting up with his neuroses. But seriously? It wasn't like Poe had ever mentioned a boyfriend, or talked as if he was in a relationship at all. If Rey had managed to misinterpret him so badly, what chance did she have at correctly guessing Finn's feelings? Rey might have given him all the space in the world based on that assumption and he couldn't have complained about it.

Hoth had the advantage of being slightly closer to Ahch-To than most of the other teams were, so they had a little time to spare. After glancing at a map, they decided to wander around a botanical gardens on their way to the last couple rounds of the home run derby. Finn thought this was incredibly nerdy, but that didn't stop him from passing off his absolutely fabricated ideas of how to pronounce the Latin names of the various plants they saw. “And here we have...yes of course...the famous PRUNE-us MOCK-y, as in I am definitely not mocking it.”

“You are Machiavellianly plotting to make us late for the game, is what you're doing.”

“Scheming in plain site. And over _here_ we have the classic Ahch-To PEONy...ish...tennyfoiled.”

“It's gonna take ten peons to foil your evil plan.”

“ _Ten_? I'm not _that_ evil.”

“Ooh, ooh, what are these?”

“Humorous...calling...minor. Leaguers.”

After tracking down her fill of labels, Rey decided they were running late and she'd have to find a “shortcut” to the stadium. As they sped and jerked through the streets, Finn figured everyone who cared about baseball in the city was probably watching the derby anyway—the few other visitors to the gardens wouldn't have seen their date for what it was. Someday, maybe, they'd have to deal with the fans craving a glimpse of partnered Gemini, but not yet. One step at a time.

They made it in time to watch the second round, and took their place in the stands cheering on Katie Simmons, a slugger from their own division. But Austin Charlesworth from the Raiders narrowly defeated her, slugging his way to the prize.

“Langlands will be in a good mood tomorrow, anyway,” Rey pointed out.

“Langlands will be in a bad mood,” said Finn, “if Charlesworth threw off his stance too much swinging for the fences and can't recover.”

Rey sighed. “Thanks for coming back. This meant a lot to me, to get to see all of this for myself.”

“I'd say any time, but maybe not any time.”

“Same time next year?”

Finn smiled. “Sounds good.”

Though the sun rose behind clouds on the day of the All-Star Game, a veritable constellation of people assembled in the Federation League locker room. Instead of matching uniforms, everyone wore the number of their own team, representing their cities from Jakku to Tatooine. Katherine Harris and Gloria Munoz, two of the older players, were softly discussing the new collective bargaining agreement and what they might negotiate for in the second half. Finn met the eyes of Charlesworth, who was stretching slowly, and who did a tiny once-over at the number on Finn's back. The eighty-seven Hoth, _his_ city, had given him!

Let them stare. He was going to keep it.

“Hey!” Rey called, “what are you doing here?”

Finn turned to see who she was talking to; surely not Ryuichi the Navigator, whose reasons for being there were obvious and who didn't respond? But she was addressing a man in street clothes standing in the corner.

“Onuki, right? How's the book?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Depends on whether anybody can beat Jakku.”

“Hey, Ryuichi,” said Gloria, “any advice for today?”

Ryuichi blinked, and Onuki quickly relayed the message. Then Ryuichi said something in Japanese that made Onuki blush very deeply. “I...don't think I should translate that.”

“Oh, come on,” said Rey, “you've been here a year, that's long enough to learn English for—”

“You're from Hoth, right?” Katherine interrupted. “Can you ask Dameron what he thinks about the new contracts?”

“Sure,” Rey sighed.

Deguchi led off the game for the Federation League, grounding out quietly. The Republic League starter, Thomas Braun, retired the side in order. Patricia Rogers, from D'Qar, had the honor or exhausting distraction of starting the game for the Federation League, and she had no trouble getting the first two outs. With nobody on, Ben Organa-Solo stepped forward.

Finn still froze up at the sight of him from across the field, but at least nobody in the Federation League commented on it. None of them were used to sharing a bullpen with each other, after all, and if it was only for one night, they could get by without remarking on everyone's little mannerisms. Finn's memories were still a part of him, just like Organa and everyone else carried their own history. As long as there was a future still to forge, he could bear it.

Rogers delivered and Organa-Solo crushed a long drive deep into the outfield, soaring beyond the reach of Deguchi in right field. The lead for sure, unless—

Rey had been running with the pitch, sprinting across the grass cut in stars. She gave a half-pivot at the warning track, continuing to follow the arc as she backpedaled. Then she flew back, leaping at the wall and reaching into space. That time, she made it, robbing the Knight of a home run.

On a scorecard it would be marked the same as any other pop-up she put away without taking a step; there was no sign for the way every pound of Organa-Solo had crowded the plate, every fan in Ahch-To was already screaming to the dark skies, every nerve in Finn's pitching arm trembled with delight. Oh, Rey was no stranger to the walls at the Municipal Arena—she was only too happy to try scaling them, to deny an opponent a moment of glory—but for a moment Finn didn't know whether the _roof_ back in Hoth could have withstood their raptured noise. But a moment later she had acquiesced to gravity, falling back to the grass. Deguchi immediately helped her up as she beamed.

With Rey and Deguchi still collecting themselves, the Federation League made its way back to the dugout, and the Republic League fielders came out to start the second. Organa-Solo was on his way to the outfield, and he crossed paths with Rey. Would he fly into a rage? For one wild moment he seemed like he could have seized her and made a show of carrying her, just to show who was truly the bigger threat. It was ridiculous, Finn knew, just his fear talking, and yet Organa-Solo really did seem larger than life sometimes.

Finn couldn't tell what was going on; they seemed to be gesturing at each other. “Look up there,” nodded the Raiders' closer. On the videoboard, Finn saw a replay. Organa-Solo had settled for giving Rey the surliest thumbs-up Finn had ever seen, and Rey, still smirking, returned the favor. Well, it could have been a whole lot worse.

The Republic League drew first blood in the second inning, after a couple of hits and an error. In the fourth, Organa-Solo came up again, and that time he would not be denied, thwacking the ball into the upper deck to pile on the lead. Rey struck out in the fifth, and Langlands substituted her out after that. Even Finn recognized that there was no great conspiracy to wear out rivals so much as give fans of as many teams as possible a chance to see their representatives in action.

By the sixth inning, Finn himself was warming up alongside Steven Gardner, the Rhinos' ace who had taken no prisoners in Jakku. When Langlands called for Gardner, Finn tried not to be _too_ let down. Who wouldn't want to use a durable starting pitcher when it was feasible? It might be easier to focus without the distracting presence of another star around, too.

The leadoff hitter grounded out for the Republic League. So far, so good. Vanessa Wallace put in a pinch-hitter. And then...the phone rang? Yes, Langlands was walking to the mound and waving for Finn himself.

“Gardner pushed himself the day before coming out here, there's not much left in him,” he explained curtly once Finn had arrived. “Just get out of the inning?”

Finn gulped.

At least the signs weren't too complicated, since they had little time to practice. Fastballs and changeups, in and out, kept the pinch-hitter off balance, and she struck out. Two away. The next batter got a mix of the same things, these a little more daring, but he was swinging away and missed wildly.

With two strikes, Finn wound and delivered a pitch that missed low; the batter got greedy anyway, and swung on and missed. Strike three, to end the inning!

Except the pitch was _way_ too low, and bounced beyond the catcher's reach. Finn froze—it didn't quite count, the runner was dashing down to first base—but on one hop, the catcher nagged it anyway and rifled it down the line. Just as if he'd grounded out, _that_ ended the inning for the Republic League.

Hustling back towards the dugout, Finn exhaled a sigh of relief. Maz Kanata would have had something deep to say about how baseball's greatness was that it wasn't over until it was definitely over, but he wouldn't have minded a little less excitement once in a while. Thankfully, Langlands didn't seem to be in the mood to tease him _too_ badly.

In the top of the seventh, none other than Richard Hux entered the game for the Republic League. The leadoff batter singled, and Gloria Munoz' groundout moved him over to third. Another sacrifice scored a run for the Federation League. Though there were still two out, Katherine Harris drew a walk. Wallace came to the mound—that would be all for Hux.

Rey came back from the showers, noting Finn's grin. “What's up?”

“Another pinch-hitter,” Finn said. Who singled to keep the rally alive.

“Wait a minute, we're in Ahch-To.”

“Really? What gave it away?”

A soft rain was beginning to fall, hardly atypical for the city, but Rey was not thinking about meteorology. “It's a Republic League stadium, are you going to have to _hit_?”

“I know how to hit, I'm a great hitter.”

“Where, high school?”

“Come on, it'll be fun. You don't want the rally to stop, do you?” A double, launched into left! At long last, the Federation League had pulled ahead.

“There has to be enough room on the roster,” Rey figured.

“Killjoy.”

It turned out not to matter. The next batter grounded out just before Finn's spot would have come up, and Langlands brought in another pitcher instead. Only halfway down the tunnel to the showers did Finn realize that, if they held on, he would be the winning pitcher.

Except when he reemerged, it was clear they had not held on. The Republic League had tied it up after the stretch, and once again the Federation League had needed to come from behind to produce one more run in the eighth. He watched with Rey as they pitched a perfect bottom half and the top of the ninth was equally flawless, as the winning run got stranded in the bottom of the ninth. The rain had not let up, and if anything was louder as they made their way into extra innings.

Langlands' lineup card was a mess of scribbles. Usually he had an embarrassment of riches to pick from, but if the crossouts didn't alter its legibility, the rain would. He could only watch as the Federation League went down quietly in order, then picked up the dugout phone against the swirling rain.

“Who is he even calling out there?” Rey asked.

Finn turned to the bullpen, then back out at the mound. “Nobody. There's no one left.” Poor Natalie Green would be left pitching into the night. Part of him pitied her. The rest of him was quite jealous.

She trudged to what was becoming an increasingly muddy mound, dug in and faced the last of the Republic League bench. Again, the winning run came aboard; again, the defense held them there and got out of the inning.

“Hold on,” said Langlands to the leadoff batter, “not yet.”

“What's happening?” Munoz demanded. The umpires huddled at home plate. Wallace was on the top step of the opposing dugout, and a short figure was making his way down from the suites.

Langlands rolled his eyes. “I've being summoned.”

“Snoke,” Rey breathed.

He speedwalked out to where the umpires had gathered, Wallace joining him there. When Snoke joined them, Finn half-expected him to stare up at the others just to meet their eye level, but he glanced down from deep under the hood of his jacket as the rain continued to pour.

Minutes passed, and Finn found himself glancing up at the videoboard. Its operators were avoiding any sign of the murmured conversation down below, instead cycling through ads. Finally, the people gathered below pulled away—only then, it was the managers walking with their heads down, and the umpires following Snoke off the field. The commissioner almost ran for the exit, never mind the treacherous grass.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the public address announcer, “due to the unsafe playing conditions and the availability of players, the umpire-in-chief has decided that it is unfeasible to finish the game. We thank you for your attendance.”

“Oh, come _on_!” Finn yelled, not needing to hear the fans' responses to know the stream of epithets that would pour forth. Munoz had slumped in exhaustion, and Harris was hustling down the tunnel to get out of the rain.

“It's an exhibition,” Green sulked, “put us back in, who cares about the substitution rules?”

“Apparently Snoke,” Munoz muttered.

“Like he'd care if we got hurt,” said Simmons, the derby slugger. “What's his real game?”

“What do you mean?” asked Munoz. “He's not biased either way, he hates us all equally.”

Finn snorted in agreement. The commissioner had posed with Organa-Solo in commemoration of some new homer triumph the previous year, but turned a blind eye to Takodana's off-field crises. If popular opinion were ever to turn against him, however, Finn had no doubt that he could chastise Organa-Solo and move on to supporting some new up-and-coming talent without batting an eye.

Simmons shrugged. “You never know.”

Rey shook her head. “They'll hate him. I almost feel sorry for the guy, _almost_. But after what they tried to do to Hoth...it's no more than he deserves.”

“Drive safely,” said Langlands. “Or wait for a cab, it's going to get worse out there.”

“Sounds good,” Gardner nodded, but Rey only gave Finn a smile. Who needed Ahch-To's beers when they had this?

She wove through the rain, while Finn checked the voicemails that came pouring in almost as quickly. Outrage about the unresolved ending, but before that, Tiffany had giggled about the thumbs-ups that got replayed during commercial breaks, and everyone was both proud of Rey's catch, while Alexander pointed out “Those guys on the coast probably are impressed but they don't see you do it every week, so sucks to be them.” Then there was Poe. “I've never seen Bunji so outraged. Leia probably should congratulate you in person rather than try to leave a message, but she says she's very proud of you, Finn, and so are all her pitching friends—I have no idea how she still keeps up with these people, but, whatever—we'll see you soon, you did great, Snoke's the worst.”

“And that's what matters,” Finn laughed.

“Who are Leia's pitching friends?” Rey asked.

“I dunno, who played for Yavin when she and Solo were there?”

“Luke Skywalker was the best—you don't think?” Skywalker, a second-generation pitcher, had been brilliant, but he'd blown his arm out after only a few short years and walked away from the game.

A year before, he couldn't have imagined Luke Skywalker knowing his name or caring about his performance. “We'll ask when we get back,” he said slowly.

Lightning coursed across the sky as Rey turned a corner, and the rain had accelerated by the time they made it to the hotel. To Finn's relief, they were able to make it up to their rooms without interference from fans desperate to announce their opinions on Snoke's rulings.

Then they hugged, their jerseys wet in the empty hallway. “Thanks for driving,” whispered Finn.

“My pleasure,” said Rey. “If our flight's canceled, I bet I can make it all the way back to Hoth tomorrow! Even in the rain.”

“I don't think they cancel flights for rain.”

“Baseball games don't just end like that either, but here we are.”

“Here is okay.”

“Yeah?” As Rey pulled away, her hands ran across the digits on his back.

“Yeah,” he said, “and Hoth will be better.”

They said their goodnights and climbed into their rooms, as the rain continued to fall. In the night sky beyond, the radio waves that Maz Kanata had spoken generations before were still making their way into deep space. The age of bygone players, of Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, of all the helmets on display at the Tatooine Colosseum, were still journeying into the future. Those echoes were a measuring stick to the stars.


End file.
